As the sun passed beyond the horizon and darkened the inner courtyard of Vanozza Cattaneo's house she played a game as she sipped her wine. She found herself more introspective than normal lately with the house so empty and quiet. All of her children had left her, and even the life that little Giovanni had lately brought to her was gone now that he had left to join Lucrezia in Naples. As she downed the sweet red wine that brought to mind the scent of the trees in Mantua she tried to pinpoint the exact moment that she had lost her children to their father's ambition and decide if all the material wealth she now possessed was worth the cost.
Each of her children had been such a joy to her in the beginning. As a courtesan she had always taken steps to ensure that she did not become pregnant and despite her best efforts twice her belly had begun to swell before she had ended the little ones that were growing inside of her. Perhaps those would have been the best of her children, she thought, untainted by Rodrigo. They could have visited her in her old age and she would have spent her twilight years surrounded by grandchildren in the country of her birth.
Vanozza had resigned herself to never being a mother. Then the Cardinal had some into her life, bringing with him more joy and despair then she would have believed possible when she had supported herself by catering to the needs of men who stirred her not at all. Love and hate. Two sides of the same coin that was her life with him.
The memory of how they had loved each other once set a knife twisting through her guts, as it always did. She had first met him when she was well past the prime age for a courtesan, but her beauty and vitality still had men flocking around her even into her third decade of life. And he had been the most virile and handsome man she had ever known. He was a master strategist who kept countless facts in his mind effortlessly and could bring her to paroxysm of sensual joy with the practiced ease of a connoisseur of women. Oh she knew that he was never faithful to her for any great length of time, but his minor dalliances had never been a threat to her position as his consort. He had given her the children, and he seemed to cherish her more as each child was borne even though it slackened her breasts and left marks on her stomach like the waves of blue water left on the sand where they had dallied many years ago.
Cesare, the first and most beloved child, blessed with her dark beauty and his father's mind. There was nothing that he could not achieve. But his father has always preferred Juan, the second child, and the constant struggle to gain Rodrigo's favor had drained the sweetness that had been such an endearing part of the young boy who would jump into her lap with a flower and cover her face with kisses. He would no longer show that tenderness to anyone but Lucrezia, which was another situation rife with problems.
Vanozza took a very large swallow of wine. Were they lovers yet? Probably. She had seen that this would happen years ago. The ties that bound them were too complex, made of absolute love, devotion, lust and seeing in the other the only thing that could make them whole. The first time she had noticed it was when they were both so young that she had prayed their mutual desire would fade in time, as other loves came and went. Instead it grew stronger, and when she had seen them dancing together at Lucrezia's betrothal ball it had been so apparent that anyone with eyes could see the forbidden love they bore one another.
Her Lucrezia had been a joy as a child, so sweet and eager to please. The light that she brought into their lives was so steady and warm that when it had been taken from her it was as though the sun had ceased to shine. It was easy to know when she had lost her little angelic girl. Her father had sold her to a man who oozed contemptuous, aristocratic superiority from his every pore and he had brutalized her, taking away that innocence forever. When Lucrezia told her what she had suffered at the hands of Giovanni Sforza Vanozza's blood had run cold and she swore that she would have a hand in the vengeance her daughter deserved. She had shared what Lucrezia had told her with Cesare and the look in his eyes had promised death so clearly and viciously that she had almost pitied the man.
Juan. She had lost him earlier than all of the others, and lost him utterly. Rodrigo warped Juan with his ambition and pride until nothing was left of the gentle, sandy haired little boy who had struggled so hard to match the boundless promise of his brother. She had shown Cesare too much favor, she knew that, and Lucrezia had never had room in her heart to adore anyone besides Cesare. So he had turned to his father, who had loved Juan more, the less he deserved it. Rodrigo had told her that Cesare had killed Juan, hoping perhaps to punish his eldest son by denying him the affection of his mother, but she had already guessed who had taken Juan's life. Vanozza only regretted that it had been necessary at all and she damned herself nightly for it. If I had been a better mother, she thought, I would never have allowed Rodrigo to steal my children away and turn Juan into a monster who would threaten the life of his nephew.
Joffre was a mouse in a family of lions and sometimes she almost forgot that she had birthed four children, of whom he was the least remarkable. No doubt her dear daughter-in-law Sancia was training him well. Vanozza had like Sancia, whose sensuality brought to mind many of her courtesan acquaintances. With her as a teacher Joffre would spend the rest of his life whoring his way through the country and would probably never hurt anyone. I doubt I will ever see him again, Vanozza thought. Rodrigo seems to have forgotten that Joffre even existed and that might be the nicest thing he ever did for the boy that was conceived in the autumn of their passion. Maybe he will get a chance to be happy.
Vanozza no longer had any illusions about her chance for happiness and all that remained for her was to bring about some justice for her children from the man who had damaged their lives. She had learned the art of vengeance from Rodrigo, and any remnants of the love that she had once felt for him had died when he had barred her from Lucrezia's wedding and placed his new whore as one of her attendants. But she was patient and her hour was fast approaching for she knew what fate had in store for Cesare.
He would be a warrior the likes of which had not been seen in Italy for generations and he would eclipse his father utterly. For a man like the Pope that would be the unkindest cut of all. So she would work tirelessly on behalf of Cesare, and tolerate and cosset the man who stole her children, because if Rodrigo Borgia had taught her one thing it was that revenge was sweet. The day that Cesare Borgia commanded more respect and fear than Pope Alexander VI she could retire from public life and spend the rest of her days basking in the glory of the child that might no longer be hers, but was instead his own man. He had been born to be a prince.
So Rodrigo could prattle on about his bees and wishing they could have a simple life in the country and she would sit back and tell him exactly what he wanted to hear. No one could match her when it came to telling men the deepest desires of their hearts. Revenge was sweet, almost as sweet as the wine that must have spilled out of this bottle because it was all gone. Vanozza stood up and swayed gently as she walked to her room. The wine had been exceptional this night.